


Blood Sport

by piecrust



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecrust/pseuds/piecrust
Summary: Mo's a man, right? Mo's a man and She Li doesn't know why Mo doesn't fight back.He Tian just wishes Mo would let him in.
Relationships: He Tian/Mo Guanshan (19 Days), Mo Guanshan/She Li (19 Days)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

She Li watched Mo as Mo placed a plate of noodles in front of him.

There were bruises the shape of fingers on his wrist and his cheek was an ugly bloom of yellow and green – looking at them made She Li sick to his stomach. He hated that they were there. Hated that he was the one responsible for them.

He clenched his fist under the table, feeling the way his knuckles ached with the stretch.

“People at work will ask about your bruises,” She Li said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“No one cares,” Mo replied, taking a seat in front of She Li. “Everyone’s good about minding their own business.”

She Li looked down at his bowl of noodles. They smelled good. “That’s good,” he said softly.

The air was heavy between them.

She Li just stared down at the bowl of noodles. Mo had made this for him, he thought. She Li had laid his hands on him last night. Taken out all his anger, stress, confusion – everything – out on Mo’s body, and Mo had made him noodles.

He cleared his throat and looked up at Mo, his stomach clenching painfully as he saw Mo’s bruises. She Li had done that. His hands had done that.

“Are you going to eat?” he asked, his voice coming out strangely soft.

Mo seemed surprised by She Li’s question, flinching a little at She Li’s voice. “No,” he said, looking at She Li nervously. “I’m not hungry… if that’s ok.”

She Li was going to kill himself, he thought. He’d chop off his hands and jump off a bridge – somewhere far away where he could never hurt Mo again.

“Yeah,” She Li whispered, his voice breaking on the syllable. “Yeah, of course it’s okay.”

He looked down at the plate of noodles again and picked up his chopsticks. He really didn’t think he could stomach food right then, but he wouldn’t waste what Mo gave him. He ate the noodles mechanically, not tasting them at all, his whole body just an ugly mass of regret and self-hatred.

“It was good,” he said when he finished. “Thanks.”

“Hmm,” Mo replied. He grabbed She Li’s empty bowl and chopsticks and walked over to the sink.

She Li watched him wash the dishes, feeling sick to his stomach.

They hadn’t always been like this, he thought, remembering how they used to be. Mornings with kisses and laughter. Mo scowling and pushing She Li away all the while blushing prettily. They’d eat breakfast, knocking their feet together as they ate and sharing looks. When they were done, they’d wash the dishes together – one washing and one drying – standing by the sink side by side.

When had that changed?

It was a stupid question, She Li thought. He knew when everything had changed. It had been that night, two years ago. She Li had come home after a 70 hour shift at the hospital, exhausted physically and emotionally, the faces of the patients he had lost haunting him every time he closed his eyes. All he had wanted to do was take a shower and pass out.

Mo had been standing by the sink, running his hand underwater. He had turned to greet She Li and She Li could see that his hand was bleeding.

He should have felt concern.

Should have taken Mo’s hand into his and patted his hand dry. Put some ointment on the cut and bandaged it carefully. Should have kissed Mo’s hand and taken him to bed. Should have, should have, should have –

But that wasn’t what he had done.

For some reason he had felt rage.

An uncontrollable anger flooded him, made his hands shake into fists.

“Can’t you be fucking careful?” he had roared, pushing Mo against the sink. “I just spent three days at the hospital taking care of patients. Is it too much to ask to come home to someone who can fucking take care of themselves?”

Mo had just stared at him in shock, holding his hand to his chest as it bled.

He hadn’t hit Mo then – had just left bruises on his hips where they had smashed against the edge of the sink.

He’d apologized the next morning, pressing kisses to those bruises, taking Mo’s injured hand and examining it carefully. He hadn’t thought too much of it then. He’d thought it was a one-time thing. He just had been too tired, too stressed. He had let his temper get the best of him. He wouldn’t do it again.

Mo hadn’t seemed too worried about it either. Hadn’t said anything about it at all, actually.

But She Li never saw an injury on Mo again. Only ever saw bandages.

“When did you get that?” She Li would ask, pointing to a bandage.

“Earlier,” Mo would say, swatting away She Li’s inquiring fingers. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

She Li hadn’t thought anything about it then, but Mo probably should have left him then. If he had left She Li then, he wouldn’t be bruised right now. He’d probably be happy, healthy, and whole, instead of injured and broken – asking She Li if it was okay that he didn’t eat like some scared child.

Things returned to normal for a while after that fateful night two years ago, and She Li had forgotten about it – but months later it happened again.

Just a shove – just a harsh word here and there. It was just that he had a temper, he had thought. Nothing dangerous. And besides. Mo was a man – strong in his own right. If he really felt in danger or if She Li really hurt him, he’d fight back, right? Right?

But Mo never said anything. Just watched him with guarded eyes. Became more quiet in the house, became more quiet in general.

And for some unfathomable reason, the smaller Mo made himself, the larger She Li’s anger grew.

It was growing even now.

She Li felt the sickness in his stomach bubble into familiar anger. Why didn’t Mo fight back? Why was he making She Li the bad guy? Mo was strong, he could fight – why didn’t he stop She Li? Why did he make She Li like this?

He grabbed the glass of water on the table and threw it towards Mo.

The glass hit the cabinet over Mo’s head and shattered over him – water and shards of glass raining down on him like some sort of twisted snow.

Yell, She Li thought darkly. Yell at me. Scream. Throw something back.

Mo turned the water off, wiping his hands dry slowly. He didn’t sigh, he hadn’t even flinched when She Li had thrown the glass.

He was used to it, She Li realized, shame bubbling into more anger. He had expected it of She Li.

“Are you content to live like this?” She Li asked, his voice low.

Mo turned, a bunch of paper towels in his hand, he bent down to wipe the floor and didn’t meet She Li’s eyes.

“Answer me,” She Li barked, kicking the leg of the table. “You used to be tough didn’t you? You content to live like this?”

Mo folded the paper towel, trapping the shards of glass between the wet paper. “How about you,” he asked slowly, still not meeting She Li’s eyes. “Are you okay living like this?”

If She Li had another glass, he would have thrown it at Mo right now.

“You’re the one you made me like this,” She Li yelled, getting up from his chair. “You made me like this. This… monster. You –!” She Li broke off his train of thought, rage tightening his vocal chords. How dare Mo ask him, he thought violently. It wasn’t his fault – it was Mo’s. It was Mo who made him like this. If he had just been more careful. If he had just fought back… if he had just…

“I know,” Mo said softly, breaking She Li’s manic cycle down. “I know.”

Mo got more paper towels and bent back down to pick up the larger pieces of glass.

He knew? She Li thought numbly. What did he know?

She Li fell to his knees.

“Why,” he asked, his voice trembling, “Why are you letting me be like this.”

Mo lifted his head to meet his eyes then, something muted and lost in them.

She Li loved him, he thought desperately, looking at the bruises on his face, the dullness of his expression. He loved him and he had made Mo like this. This dead thing pretending everything was all right.

“It’s not your fault,” Mo said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what it is about me either – but I always make them like this. Always make them want to hit me.”

Them, She Li repeated in his head, tears falling from his eyes. Them. He had become one of them. One of the people who hurt Mo. The ones that She Li had promised he wouldn’t be like. Them.

“We should break up,” She Li said, covering his face, unable to face Mo any longer. “You can have the apartment – I’ll find somewhere else.”

It was quiet for a long while, the faint tinkering of glass hitting glass the only sounds in the apartment as Mo cleaned up She Li’s mess.

When the glass had been cleaned, She Li heard steps coming towards him. Maybe Mo would just leave – walk past She Li like the trash he was, not pay him any attention. Maybe he’d finally take his revenge. She Li hoped for that. He wanted Mo to kick him, punch him, make him feel even a tenth of the pain he had doled out to Mo over the years.

Gentle fingers pulled She Li’s hands from his face.

“Are you saying that because you feel bad?” Mo asked dully, expressionlessly wiping the tears from She Li’s face. “I told you, it’s my fault. Even if it’s not you, it’ll be someone else.”

She Li stared at him. The flatness of his eyes, the darkness under them, the yellow-green bruise that started at his temple, the bloody mess of his lips, the trails of blood slowly making their way down his face where the glass had cut him. Something in his expression terrified She Li.

Mo moved She Li’s hands so that they covered Mo’s neck in a loose strangle. “Would it be better if I died?” he asked, sighing as if he were talking about the weather. “Would it be easier for you?”

She Li watched his hands around Mo’s neck. Mo was bleeding from his hands, he realized blankly. The blood had smeared on She Li’s fingers, smeared onto Mo’s neck. She Li couldn’t breathe.

Who was he holding onto?

This wasn’t Mo.

This couldn’t be Mo.

“No,” he whispered, his hands shaking as he pulled them away. “No.”

He stared at Mo, looking for… for someone… someone he had known before. Someone with bright eyes and an ever-present scowl. Not… Not this shell of a person looking back at him – blood on his neck, expression almost bored.

“I just want to stop hurting you,” She Li whispered out, his chest feeling like it was collapsing in on itself. “Why – how did I become like this?”

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Mo asked, tilting his head slightly, as if he couldn’t recognize the person in front of him either. “Isn’t that why you keep doing it?”

It did feel good, She Li thought, swallowing the bile that threatened to come out. It felt good to release everything – the stress of the day, the stress of being yelled at by patients and his superiors and just everything. It felt like control – and he had lost so much of that. Lost so much control.

“But it hurts you,” She Li replied instead of answering Mo’s question.

Mo brought his hands to eye level, watching as the blood trailed down his wrist. She Li and Mo both watched as it dripped onto the floor – spreading out like watercolor. “Yeah,” he breathed, “it hurts.”

She Li swallowed the sob that threatened to rip from his chest. “That’s why we should break up,” She Li said, bowing his head. “I’m sorry – I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

She Li watched the floor. He stared at the drops of blood before him. That was all he was, he thought. Violence.

Clear drops suddenly fell, meeting the dark red and spilling into something brighter.

She Li looked up in shock.

Mo was crying – or at least tears were falling from his eyes. Nothing else in his expression betrayed him. He was still staring down at She Li, bored and expressionless.

“I tried my best to make us work, didn’t I?” Mo asked, his voice steady, even as tears fell like rain. “How much more should I destroy of myself to stay?”

She Li couldn’t hold back the sob this time. Falling back and scooting away from Mo with numb legs.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Mo asked, staring at She Li as he created more distance between them.

No… this wasn’t what he had wanted at all. He had wanted… he had wanted to be everything his parents hadn’t been. He had wanted… love without violence. That’s what he had wanted.

He had thought he would be capable of that.

Mo stared at She Li for a second longer – something like pity entering his expression – before standing up slowly.

He walked past She Li and into their room.

What was he doing, She Li wondered faintly, his whole body tingling hot and cold. Why couldn’t She Li have been someone normal? Someone who didn’t destroy the people he loved? It was so laughable. Him – a doctor. Someone who cured and healed other people, coming home every night and beating the shit out of the man he loved. What about that had made him feel so good?

Mo walked out a few minutes later. He was wearing his backpack and it looked full.

Mo bent down to meet She Li at eye level. He ran gentle fingers through his hair, brushing it out from She Li’s eyes.

“I’m leaving now,” he said, slowly and deliberately.

He meant forever, She Li realized.

“There’s some noodles left on the stove and I froze some lunch for you in the fridge so you can take it to work. It should be enough to last you this week.”

She Li could do nothing but stare at him helplessly. He wanted to grab him. Make him stay. Take it all back. Stay, he repeated in his head, stay, stay, stay.

“I’m sorry,” Mo whispered, pressing a soft kiss to She Li’s temple. “I did love you. I didn’t mean to make you so miserable.”

Why was Mo apologizing, She Li wondered numbly, eyes following Mo as he walked out of their apartment. Why did he apologize.

It should have been him.

She Li punched the floor, wishing the floor could hit him back – wishing that he could feel more pain. He smashed his head against the wooden floorboards, screaming and screaming and screaming.

It wasn’t fair, he thought desperately. It wasn’t fair.


	2. Chapter 2

He Tian’s head chef walked into the kitchen, blood smeared on his neck and his face a bloom of violence.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He Tian asked, his hand already out to touch the redhead’s face.

Mo flinched back from He Tian’s hand, “Nothing,” he mumbled, avoiding He Tian’s gaze. “Sorry, I’ll get cleaned up.”

He Tian watched Mo run to the employee restroom, hand still stupidly held in the air.

It wasn’t the first time Mo had come into work bruised up, but this was definitely the worst. It was definitely the first with so much blood.

He ran into the restroom after him, something like panic and rage twisting inside him.

Mo turned to him in shock when He Tian entered the restroom – his shirt was already half off and his chest was mottled black and blue.

He Tian pushed Mo towards the wall, blocking him in wish his body. “Was it that boyfriend of yours again?” he asked through gritted teeth. He gripped Mo’s chin with his fingers and turned his face so he could have a better look at his bruises. “I’m really going to fucking kill him this time.”

Mo pulled his face from He Tian’s hands, turning his eyes down. “It won’t happen again,” he murmured, “sorry.”

He Tian slammed his fist against the wall, “What the fuck are you apologizing for?” he asked, so angry and ashamed and – and… hurt.

“Sorry,” Mo just repeated again, still looking at the ground.

What was he apologizing for, He Tian wondered wildly. Why was he apologizing?

“Don’t apologize,” He Tian said, stepping back from Mo. Giving him some space. “I… I just want...” He Tian trailed off. What did he want? For Mo to stop coming in beat up? For Mo to dump that shit head of a boyfriend? For Mo to let He Tian take care of him?

What could he say?

Mo didn’t say anything to break He Tian from his train of thought. He just quietly finished taking off his shirt and he folded it and placed it on top of the sink. He grabbed some paper towels and wet them – wiping the blood off his neck.

“Here, give me,” He Tian said, taking the wet towel from Mo’s fingers. He finished wiping the blood from Mo’s neck and dabbed it along Mo’s forehead where he had little cuts. He Tian’s fingers were shaking. He thought Mo might be shaking as well.

He ran the towel gently over Mo’s eyelids, wiping off the flecks of blood that had fallen there. He dabbed at the busted lip. Ran the towel over his cheeks and chin.

He threw the towel away when he had wiped all the blood off.

“Thanks,” Mo whispered, still not looking at He Tian.

He Tian dropped his head onto Mo’s shoulder, letting out a deep sigh. “How many more times do I have to see you like this,” he asked. Mo was tense beneath him, barely breathing.

He Tian raised his head after a few seconds, sighing again. He felt tired. Tired and powerless.

Mo always made him feel so powerless.

“I’m sorry,” Mo said again. He reached into his bag to pull out a shirt.

He Tian watched him as he got dressed.

It was inconceivable that the firecracker that worked in the kitchen was the same person as this meek, tired man in front of him. How could someone so lively, go home and accept being beaten? He Tian couldn’t understand it.

Was that love?

Is that what Mo thought love was? Is that why he couldn’t accept He Tian’s feelings? Because he couldn’t recognize what love without violence looked like?

“You know how I feel about you,” He Tian said softly, “It kills me that the only thing you let me do for you is clean up his mess.”

Mo looked at He Tian finally – finally. “I’m sorry,” he said again, giving He Tian the smallest hint of a smile. “It won’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?” He Tian asked, taking a step toward Mo.

“I… We broke up,” Mo whispered.

“He did this to you because you broke up?” He Tian asked, his heart suddenly beating fast in his chest.

“No,” Mo shook his head, “this was… yesterday.”

“And you broke up today?”

“Yeah.”

He Tian crowded Mo against the wall, the air suddenly charged between them. “Where are you going to stay?” he asked, close enough to Mo that their breaths mingled.

Mo glanced at him for a second before looking away. “I’ll figure something out,” he murmured.

“Stay with me,” He Tian said quickly, “I have space.”

“I couldn’t do that to you,” Mo replied, moving to get out between He Tian and the wall.

He Tian grabbed him, held him by the shoulder so he couldn’t move. “Stay with me,” he said slowly, looking into Mo’s eyes. “Please.”

Mo looked at He Tian, something desperate in his eyes. His expression crumbled suddenly. “Stop,” he said, “Don’t ask this of me right now.”

He Tian slammed his fist against the wall. “What am I asking of you?” he asked desperately. “I’ve watched you for a year. A year I’ve had to watch you come in hurt and you – you wouldn’t let me do anything about it.”

He dropped his head against the wall, against Mo’s ear. His breath was rough. His heart was beating rapidly.

“I don’t expect anything from you – I won’t do anything to you,” he said desperately. “Just… please. Let me do this for you. Just this. Please. It kills me, seeing you like this.”

He Tian felt shaky hands envelop him.

Mo’s head fell onto his shoulder.

“He Tian,” Mo said, and his voice shook. “It’s my fault that he hit me. I don’t deserve any… I don’t need you to save me.”

Mo was so cruel, He Tian thought desperately. How many ways was he planning on breaking He Tian’s heart?

“Then save me,” He Tian said, pressing his nose into Mo’s neck. “Save me, Mo.”

He Tian felt wetness on his shoulder, and he could feel Mo shaking.

“Stay with me,” he whispered again. “You can stay until you find somewhere else. I promise I won’t do anything to you.”

Mo lifted his head and glared at He Tian with teary eyes. “Shut up,” he scowled – the firecracker He Tian knew and loved showing himself a little. Mo wiped his eyes roughly, disturbing his barely healed skin. Drops of blood pooled up again.

He Tian scowled and turned to grab more paper towels. “Be careful, idiot,” he chided, dabbing the towels over the wounds.

Mo leaned just a tiny bit into He Tian’s hands, still scowling up at him. “Is it okay?” he asked haltingly, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

He Tian felt warm. Mo was so cute.

“Of course,” he said. He wanted to say, ‘stay forever,’ but he stopped at of course.

Mo sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He looked exhausted. He Tian wanted to kiss him.

“Hey,” he said instead, stepping back, “let’s go get you set up. You’re in no shape to work today.”

“No!” Mo barked suddenly, grabbing He Tian’s arm, “I’m fine. I can work.”

For the millionth time since He Tian had come to know Mo Guan Shan, he wished Mo would be more honest. He was bloody and bruised and looked like he hadn’t slept all week – He Tian could feel his fingers trembling where they grabbed him. He was in no way ‘fine.’

Would it be too much to ask Mo to admit that?

He Tian ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I know you can work,” he said, “but as your boss, I’m forcing you to take today off.”

“Bullshit,” Mo growled, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, “don’t treat me different just ‘cause you feel sorry.”

He Tian felt a sharp jolt of anger course through him at Mo’s words. “You think I feel sorry for you?” he asked, closing in on Mo again, “I feel fucking sorry for me, Mo.”

Mo let go of his arm, looking up at him in confusion.

“I feel fucking sorry for me,” He Tian repeated. He put a hand on Mo’s cheek, rubbing the bruise that splashed over his pale skin. “I’m in love with a fucking idiot and he doesn’t fucking understand how much he’s hurting me. He thinks he’s hurting by himself.”

“What are you talking about?” Mo whispered.

He was so fucking stupid, He Tian thought. Mo was so fucking stupid and He Tian was so in love with him.

He Tian was in love with an idiot who thought he was hurting alone. An idiot who thought that if he just endured enough it would get better. If he just suffered correctly – maybe he’d receive love again. He Tian had had to watch this idiot get beaten and bruised for a year and had been able to do nothing other than bandage him afterwards.

“You know how I feel about you,” He Tian whispered, “did you ever think about how much it might hurt me to watch you suffer? Why won’t you let me help you? Why do you have to shoulder everything alone?”

“I’m not suffering,” Mo replied, his hands on He Tian’s chest, seemingly wanting to push him back but not able to. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“But I’m not fine,” He Tian sighed, dropping his head onto Mo’s shoulder. “Please just take today off. Let’s go to my apartment. You can take a shower and sleep – I’ll feel better if you do that.”

He Tian closed his eyes and just breathed for a couple of breaths. Begging Mo silently to do as he asked.

“Fine,” Mo conceded finally, shoulders sagging as he sighed. “Do you think Zhengxi will be ok?”

He Tian huffed a laugh, feeling lighter now that he knew Mo was going to be taken care of. “It’s a Monday. I’m sure Zhengxi will be fine.” He picked up Mo’s backpack from the ground. “Come on, let’s go.”

He Tian offered Mo his hand.

Mo stared at him for a long second. “Just tonight, okay?”

“Yeah,” He Tian smiled, “however long you want.”

Mo cautiously placed his hand into He Tian’s.

How was it possible for one person to make him feel so many highs and lows, He Tian wondered, feeling as if he could fly.

Mo’s hands were long and thin and rough from his years working in the kitchen and they fit into He Tian’s hand perfectly.

Nothing was going to be perfect – Mo had just escaped a nightmare but that didn’t mean it was over.

But it would be enough if He Tian could be a haven for Mo even for one night.

Even if it was one night, it was a step forward.

“While you’re so agreeable – how mad would you be if I killed your ex-boyfriend?”

**Author's Note:**

> I was probably not 100% sane when I wrote this. Anyway, abuse too deep an issue for me to sufficiently cover in 4k words - I'm sorry, idk why this wanted to come out of me.  
> [sincerelystranger.tumblr.com](sincerelystranger.tumblr.com)


End file.
